Batter My Heart
by iamtrollinginthedeep
Summary: Slightly AU. Set 5 years in the future in a fast-lane L.A. where Chloe has made it to the top, her name frequently appearing in US Weekly and Rolling Stone magazines. Meanwhile, Beca's dreams have gone down the drain. Struggling to make ends meet but mostly, to look forward to the future. So when they reconnect after all this time, what are they exactly expecting from one another?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: AU. Set 5 years in the future in a fast-lane L.A. where Chloe has made it to the top, her name frequently appearing in US Weekly and Rolling Stone magazines. Meanwhile, Beca's dreams have gone down the drain. Struggling to make ends meet, to keep off the streets and mostly, to look forward to the future. So when they reconnect after all this time, what are they exactly expecting from one another? **

A/N: This was originally going to be TSTRF's epilogue but I figured they didn't need more drama... in that world anyway! I'm just trying out this new idea and depending on the feedback I get, I'll see about the rest. So leave me comments if you want it continued or not! Cheers aca-people Xx

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**[Part 1]**

The day breaks through her blinds, hot and disorienting. The sun's warmth tickles her cheek so Beca rolls on the side, trying to ignore the fact that she has to get out of bed someday. What time is it, midday? One? Does it really _matter_?

Probably not. It feels like 10 minutes have passed since she's come home to crash. She didn't even bother pulling the covers on top of her, being way too exhausted by last night's gig. Like every Friday night, the underground club "The Katacomb" was jam-packed; full of underage sluts, tanned douches, old pervs and stoned assholes. And she was spinning for them, stringing tracks after tracks in hopes of quickening their bloodstream and screwing up their senses. Beca was a pro at that; screwing up that is.

She flips on her back, staring at the beige ceiling where paint has started to peel in the corners. She cannot sleep anymore. Besides, it's actually fucking four o'clock. Reluctantly, she rolls out of bed and drags herself slowly across her "spacious" two-room apartment to the entrance door.

The journal lies at her feet on her tiny doormat half-eaten by rats or whatnot. She distractedly picks it up and flings it in on the kitchen table without taking a look. She craves some coffee but doesn't feel like waiting for it to brew so she warms up some of the day before instead. It's stale and fucking revolting so she empties it in the sink and lights up a cigarette instead, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet on top of the table.

She doesn't want to open the goddamn paper. She already knows what she's going to find and the prospect makes her almost as sick as her sour coffee.

_But they say curiosity killed the cat. _

She flips through the sections and lands on the first page of the Arts segment. The main title catches her eye and she takes a long drag out of her cigarette to calm her nerves.

"DJ Presto's explosive debut album _Stone-hard_: Interview with his manager Chloe Beale of the Beale Records"

The girl's face is as radiant as ever, Beca muses as her thumb strokes the inked photograph. She's wearing a classy black blazer over a blouse of an vivid turquoise that makes her eyes sparkle even brighter while Ginger locks fall graciously down her shoulders. To be honest, she looks like she's just come out of a Prada fashion catalogue.

It's been five years. Five long years with the occasional facebook update, a hurried coffee date in-between two meetings, and a whole lot of calls going straight to voicemail. For the first few years anyway. Now, the only way she knows what the redhead is up to is through the internet articles and magazine interviews. She's got a pile of US Weekly stashed under her bed to prove that _she_ hasn't forgotten Chloe Beale. Her first love.

They stopped communicating when Chloe got her first big contract. Beca had become too ashamed, too hateful and bitter. She could not untangle her feelings and forgive Chloe—admitting that there was even need for forgiveness—both for walking away and for making it big. Because she'd found happiness without her. And because even after five years, Chloe's face is the first thing she thinks of in the morning.

And just look at her. Beca "Loser" Mitchell.

She's missed the mark completely. Giving two-hours long sets in crumby clubs to make ends meet, going to her joke of an apartment to make herself some boiled pasta for dinner and crashing in front of bad TV show re-runs at 3:00 am.

This is what it has come to. The great promises. _Bullshit._ Everybody doesn't make it and anyone saying otherwise is lying. You have all of these ambitious people who ace college and expect to be as successful in life. Some of them do. But let's face it, some burn halfway to the stars, and some don't even get off the ground. And some die inside when they realize that they built their dreams on pillars of sand.

She squishes her stub in the ashtray and looks through her window. The sun is shining outside. It's her day off; she could do whatever she wants. But she chooses to take it slow and be absolutely not productive. _Color me surprised._

Right there, a crazy and utterly outlandish idea strikes her. She wants to text Chloe. Out of the blue, just like that. For the hell of it.

She lights up a new smoke, sits up straight and starts typing a message on her cellphone.

_What's up Chloe? It's Beca :)_

The smiley face is tacky. Erase.

_Chloe! Heyyy it's been so long! _

Now that just sounds phony as fuck. Erase.

_Hey Chloe! How's it going?_

Beca is anxiously thumbing her phone, her finger hovering above the "send" button. She's about to send it when she figures that text messages have a knack to get lost in inboxes, especially famous people's ones. _What the hell!_

She deletes her draft and instead slowly dials Chloe's number on the pad even though it's in her contact list because somehow, dialling it digit by digit gives her a rush, pathetically so.

It rings two times and already, Beca wishes she hadn't called. At the fourth ring, she is met with muffled noises and a voice slightly out of breath.

"Hello?"

"Hey Chloe! It's me... Beca."

The second of silence makes Beca nervous. Does she even _remember_ who she is?!

"Hey! Sorry, I can't hear you well, I'm at this party... Hang on, I'll just—"

_A party at four in the afternoon?! How fucking bourgeois. _

Beca presses the phone against her ear, but only rustling and static noises come out. She briefly wonders if she hung up on her.

"Okay," she finally says, "Now it should be fine. How are you!"

Her voice has barely changed in five years. It's still got this clear, pure and innocent quality to it. If she could afford it, she would feel a little nostalgic over it.

"I'm... fine! Listen, I don't even know why I called. I—I read that article in the paper this morning and I just figured, why not!"

"Oh yeah! Things are crazy right now! I never expected my client to do so well! Who would've thought that a kid mixing tracks in his basement could get this far?!"

Silence.

"Uh anyway, how are you doing?" she proceeds to say to clear up the awkwardness. "Last time we spoke, you were signing a contract with a new club."

"The Katacomb? Yeah, I'm still there. It's been two years and a half now..."

"Really?! Oh my god, time flies so fast!"

Beca clears her throat. Amazingly enough, Chloe hasn't changed a tad. She's still this same little bundle of joy, full of energy, full of everything Beca has always been lacking of. Suddenly, she wants to hang up so bad. Trying to contact her was a bad fucking idea. She shuts her eyes and silently curses at herself for having committed yet another mistake.

"Beca?" Chloe asks when confronted to the girl's silence.

"Yeah, I'm here. Listen, I need to go. I—I promised some friends I'd meet them and besides, you have a party to get back to! So uh, yeah... Bye!" She hates that her voice quivers on the last word.

Chloe sounds puzzled at the other end of the phone. "Oh, okay. Well it was very nice talking to you! It's been such a long time..."

"Sure. You too. Bye."

_Fucking. Finally. _Beca releases a heavy sigh, leaning back in her seat. That was a terrible idea because now, not only is she bored and exhausted but she's also fucking depressed. The only thing worse than rekindling with an old acquaintance who is also your ex is when they made it big while you didn't and you can just _hear_ their pity for you in their voice. Beca doesn't need Chloe's pity, she's drowning in her own already. She wants another cigarette but she figures that she's exaggerating with that new chain-smoking habit she picked up. She's seen people die of lung cancer and it wasn't pretty. Starting to smoke was definitely a mistake because once you're addicted, you spend a little fortune on these damn things. The only good thing is that it steadies the nerves and it kills time. But she's trying to stop. Or so has she been telling herself for the past year.

She checks her phone to find a new text message. It's her boss informing her that her gig tonight is cancelled. The one she counted on to pay her rent. She lets out a loud curse, uncrossing her legs under the table and dropping her head in her hands. It's not a secret that she is no Rockefeller. In fact, she's more like your average college student. The roof over her head counts as one of her greatest blessings, her fridge is occupied by cans of beer and fast-food leftovers and with time, she has mastered countless techniques to avoid the landlord or get an extension to pay the rent. So with this night's pay being annulled, she'll have to be frugal as shit. _Again._

"Fuck it."

She lights up another smoke.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I have decided to continue this fic, having a good idea of the plot in my head! Thank you all for the feedback, you're great :) You can always comment/review; I take all your comments in consideration! Xx**

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**[Part 2]**

It's a full house tonight, Beca observes as she tries to push her way through the crowd in the club. She doesn't work tonight anymore but she still likes to hang, mainly because she has no cover to pay and because her drinks are free. It's barely midnight and the dancefloor is crammed with sweaty bodies grinding against each other. The music they're jumping to is some shitty dubstep remix of a Pitbull song. Perhaps this is why her stuff never caught on; it was too old school and not "hip" enough for today's market. Well, fuck this shit. Her music is her art and her art means pretty much everything to her. She'll have to die before she surrenders to the big label's capricious tastes.

She sits at the bar, ordering a first round of shooters to the barman.

"Hey Beca! You spinning later?"

"Nope. Not tonight, Matt. I've been replaced by.. this dude apparently," she replies, pointing to the guy in the neon red jumpsuit.

"Ah yes! DJ Rouge's really popular these days. The manager's had to drive a really hard bargain only to get him tonight and let me tell you he ain't cheap!"

"I don't like his style. It's commercial, lazy and unoriginal," she states as she eyes him restlessly bouncing up and down to animate the crowd.

Matt chuckles, knowing how passionate about music the girl is. "I kind of agree, but it works, right? Isn't it what really matters in the end?"

Beca shakes her head and downs a first shot of tequila, the alcohol burning her throat so deliciously. She looks to the side. A few seats from her sits a gorgeous lady, hazelnut hair, soft eyes and olive-toned skin. She's seen her before. In fact, she's a regular just like her and from what Beca can gather, she's single or otherwise, she wouldn't be sipping dry martinis by herself on a Saturday night. She remembers having offered her a drink last week, which had allowed them to chat for a bit. Funnily, she can't remember if she had enjoyed her company to save her life! It was her body that had stuck with her.

"Well well, color me surprised!" Beca exclaims as she moves a few seats up.

The woman turns keenly but when her eyes meet the brunette, her face darkens as she breathes a heavy sigh. "Oh. It's you."

"Sure thing! So... Ella?"

"It's Ellie," the girl answers dryly.

"Sure. Hey, have you thought about my offer? I mean, you want it, I want it. And we both know it'll be amazing!" she says as she downs her second shot. She can feel herself lighter already. Happier.

"You're vile!" Ellie blurts, looking thoroughly revolted.

"Hah," Beca smirks. "So my place or yours?"

"I mean, who the fuck do you think you are, God's gift to women?!"

"Are you really taking a swing at me when we could be back at mine already?"

The girl's head rolls to the side. "First, I'm telling you you're an asshole. Then, we'll fuck."

"Oh okay," Beca shrugs casually. "Go ahead then."

Flabbergasted, Ellie throws her hands in the air. "For god's sake, what is _wrong_ with you?!"

That question is funny as hell because Beca can't even begin to answer. She gives Ellie a look as if she's just said the most ridiculous thing ever. "Do you want the list in alphabetical order?"

Maybe it's pity or maybe it's lust, Beca doesn't really care. As long as her bed stays warm at night, she doesn't bother asking herself that sort of questions. They're too much of a threat to her fickle happiness. Nowadays, she'll take anything that gives her a rush or makes her forget.

* * *

When she wakes up, Ellie is still fast asleep next to her, her bare back facing up. She brings a hand to her head. The alcohol has slowly been diluted in her blood, allowing her to think more clearly. Her memories of last night are vague but she remembers enough to know she wouldn't be opposed to doing it again sometime. Not that she liked the girl though. She's a spoiled little brat who never stops talking about boring stuff like her brand new cellphone, the next Ryan Gosling movie or her textbook daddy issues. This is partly why she kissed her so much; to shut her up. Besides, she'll probably expect some breakfast or something and Beca's fridge is running on empty. She's not the fucking Hilton after all! She's just a body. A broken and tired body.

Eventually, the girl stirs in the bed, surprised not to find Beca. She's in the main room, looking out the window while going through her pack of smokes.

"That's not good for you, you know?"

Beca looks up, shooting her a mind-you-own-business look. She quips, "Well I brought you home last night and that wasn't "good for me" either, was it?"

That shuts her up.

She continues. "I made some coffee if you want. Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to go home to daddy with half your clothes, no money and an empty stomach. You can probably ask him to write you a check though," she says on a tone full of contempt.

"Hey, fuck you!" Ellie growls.

"I already did," she scoffs.

"I shouldn't have come here."

Beca puts her cigarette out in the ashtray and stands up next to the window, waving her arm for the smoke to float out. "Poor princess, your prince charming doesn't please you anymore? Look, fucking is fucking. That's all it is."

"You think you're cool but everybody can see how messed up you are!" Ellie snaps. "You're good at sex but you suck at feelings! You—you have no heart! Who took it from you?!"

Beca's not smirking anymore. If she thought the girl was only unlikable, now she wouldn't mind if she got hit by a bus. She scratches her head and crosses her arms over her chest, looking down. "People like you... You can show yourself out now."

The brunette turns around and leans against the sink, head tucked in her shoulders. All she hears is a muffled curse and swift footsteps walking away. She has barely time to throw a "Go make daddy proud!" behind her shoulder before the door is being slammed shut.

* * *

One of the perks of working in the crappiest club in the neighbourhood is the kind of people you meet; they're definitely not your average party-goer. After midnight, the place turns into a bona fide buzzing marketplace and getting the stuff you want to a good price is surprisingly easy. This is why that night Beca somehow ends up with 5 grams of cocaine in addition to her usual bag of dope. She's barely got enough money left for food but she figures that it's well worth the sacrifice; she'll manage with frozen pizzas and toasts.

All the way home, her hands are plunged like weights in her pockets, palming the precious bags. It's ironic to think that when she was younger, she had sworn never to touch that kind of stuff, even after her parents' divorce when she had shut everyone out of her world. Even when her mother had died a few years later and she had felt lonelier than she'd ever been. She'd gone to the funeral and apart from dad and a few of her mom's closest friends, the church had been fucking empty and she had made the promise never to live through anything like that again. After that, her father and her stopped talking. He had accused Beca of not "honouring her mother's memory" but deep down, the girl knew that he really just meant that he was too ashamed and disappointed in her. And now, all she gets is a Christmas card every year containing a hundred dollar bill. _Good riddance. _

The air is crisp even for August so she balls her fists in her pocket. She's been smoking dope for a while now and it's probably not such a terrible thing since so many teenagers do it. But just like cigarette, she hadn't meant to start weed. It was her barman friend Matt who had initiated her to the wonderful world of recreational escapism and denial one evening. "It'll make you feel right," he'd said. He'd told the truth too. She isn't an addict though because she doesn't _need_ that stuff like some people do, craving it so bad they could kill others and sometimes themselves. But she needs it enough to buy a small dose every week. The coke is a novelty though and she still doesn't know whether to give it a shot or flush it down the toilet. The pusher told her she had enough to be gone for a couple hours and if she was satisfied, she could buy more. All the way home, she repeats to herself through gritted teeth, _What the hell am I doing._

She lays out everything on her kitchen table, carefully handling the little bag containing a powder that is white as snow. It looks like flour. It could be flour for all she knows. She takes a mirror shard she has been saving for weeks now and forms a little row on her table. She doesn't even fucking know how to do this! She's seen gangster movies and shit but actually doing it is unnerving. She rolls a piece of paper into a slim tube that resembles a straw, wondering if it would be better to sniff in one shot or go gradually. Christ, her hands are shaking so fucking bad. She closes her eyes, on the verge of tears and god, she feels light-headed._ HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Okay, there's no going back after this! If I am not to do it, I need to decide NOW! _

The phone rings.

Instantly, she drops her straw and pushes her chair away from the table, the only reason why she hasn't fainted yet being the steady ringtone going off in the room.

With trembling hands, she holds her phone to her ear. Fuck, her throat is so parched she can't even speak.

"Hey Bec? It's me, Chloe!"

Silence.

"Beca? Are you there?"

"Y—yeah," she croaks.

"Hey, I'm sorry I haven't called back, I've been meaning to. I'm in the middle of some important contract and the press is breathing down my neck! But I wanted to tell you I was so glad to hear from you the other day! We hadn't spoken in _so _long it's ridiculous!" She marks a pause. "You know, I'm thinking of you sometimes and how much it sucks that we never kept in touch."

Beca needs to take the phone away for a second. When she presses it back against her ear, she breathes a weak, "Yeah..."

On the other end, Chloe chuckles. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I miss you Bec. Like, a lot."

The girl stifles a sob, praying to god that Chloe didn't hear.

"Uh, are you okay? Am I interrupting you in the middle of something?"

Beca stares at her table, with her meticulously prepared line of coke, her mirror shard and her roll of paper. She bites the inside of her cheek until the familiar metallic taste of blood teases her tongue.

"It's nothing important... I—I'm glad you called."

"Hey you don't sound really great. Are you sick?"

"No, I've just got a lot on my plate lately. Sorry if I sound boorish."

She chuckles again and Beca almost loses it. Who ever thought that you could miss someone's laugh _so bad_. "Don't be silly!" she says. "Listen I wanted to know, would you like to go for a coffee sometime? We could catch up and hang out."

"I... guess." Beca hits herself across the head. She's acting like a class-A asshole. "I mean, yes. I'd really like that Chloe."

"Awesome! Well uh, I can't tomorrow because I've got meetings all day but how's Friday? I'd text you then and we could meet up in your neighbourhood if that's okay."

She forces herself to smile because she knows that everything can be heard through a voice and she doesn't want Chloe to think she's second-guessing it. "Sure! See you on Friday!"

"So it's a date! See you soon Beca!"

The brunette puts her phone back on the table, staring at her mess. Icy shivers run up her spine as she takes in the scene before her eyes. She squeezes them shut and realizes that warm tears are making tracks down her face. What the _fuck_ is she doing?! She hastily takes her small blade, pushes the dust into a white little mound and puts it back into her ziplock bag before throwing it down the toilet, flushing the drug away. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hits her and she ducks her head in time to puke acid bile. With sweat trickling down her forehead and every muscle in her body aching like hell, she crawls back against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, panting feverishly.

She doesn't feel like getting high anymore. Tonight, she just wants to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the wait aca-people! Here is some much needed background on the 5 years gap! It might answer some questions… I wrote this chapter to Coldplay's "The Scientist" so if you want to get more feels out of your read, play it along ;)**

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**[Part 3]**

_I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away. You shoot me down but I won't fall. _

_I am titanium_.

She's lying in bed nursing a bottle of cheap vodka and listening to that song again. Five years later and it's still in her top five most played. How fucking pathetic is that?! The Barden years appear to be an eternity ago, when she used to listen to David Guetta. Somehow, this song has become the soundtrack of her life. Beca is absolutely bulletproof. She doesn't give a fuck about anything which is precisely why she's invincible.

She takes a swig out of the bottle, letting the liquor work its magic and appease her restless mind. It's curious because sometimes, she's picturing herself running in a large deserted field where a bunch of people open fire on her. Her body twitches in every direction possible, convulsing uncontrollably while blood gushes out of every hole carved in her flesh. Her deafening screams fill the air but she never stops running. And when all the bullets have been fired, as if a defiance of the universe's laws themselves, she's still standing.

She goes to take another gulp when she realizes that it's half-empty already. Weirdly, it is only now that the toxicity begins to afflict her; skull and bones feel heavy as lead and senses grow blurry. Slowly, her grasp on the bottle loosens as her head lulls to the side of her pillow.

* * *

The soft touch of a pair of lips on her cheek stirs her out of her slumber. Above her is the most gorgeous face she's every beheld. Two electrifying blue eyes are darting her, surrounded by a magnificent cascade of fiery locks or hair. The smile she is met with makes her insides melt; it's so sweet, so affectionate, so wholesome, so... _Chloe_.

"Hey there sleepyhead," the redhead purrs. "It's well past ten you know!"

"Have you been watching me sleep?" Beca asks groggily.

"Maybe juuust a little? It's kinda hard not to," she winks in her most charming way.

She sits on the edge of the bed, gently stroking the brunette's hair. "I had a job interview this morning and I was really nervous! The guy was barely thirty, he wore a purple tie to match his socks, _purple Beca_! And he talked to me as if I'd been in the business for fifteen years!"

"Well, people in the showbiz are often a bit eccentric. Don't worry, even when you become his secretary, you probably won't have to dress like that... Because hey, I know you killed it," Beca grins knowingly as she sits up.

"I really hope so! I can't wait to find a job so you're not alone to support us! I guess I still needed to adjust to this new life," Chloe says, waving her hand around the room. "You know, my parents are still not entirely sold to the idea of me being all across the country! They're concerned about my, well _our_ future. Young couples often have a hard time when they move in together let alone if it's in an overwhelming city like Los Angeles!"

Beca cracks a smile, reaching for the older girl's two hands and squeezing them lovingly. "L.A., my DJ career on its way, a shoebox apartment, just the two of us... It's a dream come true and I wouldn't have it _any_ other way."

So this is the unexpected turn life had taken. Falling in love with the bubbly a cappella girl after realizing that Jesse was not going to fix her. Spending the most amazing summer with the most amazing girl, filling their days with ice cream dates, lazy kisses in the tall grass and passionate promises of forever.

"You promise?" Chloe asks, her eyebrows knitted as if she suspected Beca of lying to reassure her. Truth is, between the two, the older girl had been the most reluctant to leave her birthplace, the main reason being her childhood friend Aubrey. They'd never been separated before and Beca knew just how much they needed each other. Aubrey was all seriousness, responsibility and order while Chloe was fun, spontaneous and unbound. They were two sides of a coin and their tandem worked on this equilibrium. So it's a torn and apologetic Chloe who left Aubrey behind at the end of the summer, which felt like losing a part of herself. And unfortunately, Skype could only do so much... But they lived in a small and relatively insignificant town and in order for Beca's dreams to come true, L.A. was a sure bet.

Beca knows all this. Chloe didn't have to share every single one of her thoughts and confess her distress for her girlfriend to understand. She would move mountains for her but right now, all she needs is a promise, and she is happy to oblige. "I give you my word."

Chloe breathes a sigh of relief. "I'll hold you to it."

"Mm I like the idea of you holding me."

"Beca!" Chloe gasps as her cheeks turn crimson. "I wasn't talking dirty!"

The brunette wriggles her eyebrows salaciously. "I was..."

Chloe bursts out laughing. As she goes to playfully nudge her girlfriend's arm, she loses balance and accidentally pushes her down on her back, straddling her. They wrestle a little, trying to take the upper hand and assert control, but the redhead is stubbornly pinning the other girl's wrists on the mattress with a firm grip. "Gotcha!" she exclaims.

Chloe is beaming down at her, eyes sparkling with a bit of lust of course but also with love, gratitude and admiration. "I love you so much Beca Mitchell, you know that?"

"Yeah, I have a vague idea..." she giggles. "Ugh, just come here already!" The girl hooks an arm around the ginger's neck, crashing their lips down into a fiery kiss.

* * *

Night is slowly falling as the first stars make their timid appearance in the sky when Beca enters the apartment. She comes in slamming the door shut and throwing her shoulder bag on the floor of the living room while grumbling under her breath.

"Beca?" Chloe asks as she peeps out the bedroom door. "What's going on babe?"

She hurries out of the room to find her girlfriend curled up on the couch, her balled fists pressed against her eyes. "I lost it! I got fired!" she blurts out furiously, fighting the tears that build in her eyes.

She had been working her ass off at the local radio station for six months now, taking up all the undesirable 3 am shifts and coming up with ideas to improve the station on a daily basis. They had said that they appreciated her enthusiasm but that her music was not "what they were looking for" because it had a limited audience. They had actually taken a week to discuss among themselves, weighing the pros and cons of her departure. In the end, they arrived to the conclusion that she would probably benefit other companies more. _The ungrateful bastards._

Without saying a word, Chloe gingerly joins Beca on the couch and snuggles against her, burying her head in the DJ's neck. Beca doesn't move but her heartbeat quickens nonetheless because she just can't help it around this girl. Memories of their first kiss rushing back to her catches her off-guard but she knows better than to push them away; she loves reminiscing and right now, she really craves some happy.

It was the last movie night organized by the Bellas and Treblemakers to celebrate the end of term and of college for Chloe and Aubrey. Everybody had left the theatre when Chloe realized she had forgotten her purse on her seat and with Beca, they had gone back in the emtpy projection room to retrieve it. And right there, in semidarkness, among the vacant red velvet seats and the popcorn crumbs littered on the floor, they had shared their very first and long-awaited kiss. She could never forget her nervousness, Chloe's cherry lip gloss and the thought that crossed her mind as they embraced. _This is it. I found home._

The feeling had never faded afterwards.

They stay snuggled up like that for a good five minutes and she seriously wonders if Chloe has fallen asleep on her. But her voice eventually comes as a soothing whisper.

"You'll find something else. You're smart, resourceful, headstrong and so talented... I'm your biggest fan and there is no reason why more people couldn't adore you."

Beca shifts carefully on the couch to face the older girl as she grabs her hand. "Chlo..."

The redhead squeezes back with unwavering confidence. "I'm not just saying that because you're my girlfriend you know. I mean it. I have absolute faith in you Beca and I just _know_ that you're bound to achieve great things."

Choking on emotion, Beca articulates a strangled, "I love you."

"I love you too. Always."

* * *

Chloe has invited Beca to a fancy restaurant because she had good news for them. The place is very "chic", with golden wall candles bearing many branches that cast a warm and intimate glow, old brick walls all around and a beautiful and cosy fireplace in the centre of the circular room. Damn she is pissed off and she feels rubbish because this is exactly the kind of place she wishes she could treat her girl to every night. Besides, she's silently cursing at her plaid shirt and jeans after noting that everybody else has put zealous effort into their appearance. She's standing out, and not in a good empowering way.

Chloe is dazzling with her black dress and golden earrings—gifts of her boss, the purple-loving oddball. She grabs her glass of wine.

"Let's raise a toast to the Glowroom Records' newest artist agent!"

"You—What?!" Beca stammers.

"My boss gave me a promotion!" Chloe finally announces excitedly. "I now help emerging artists to find gigs, venues and all that! I am so thrilled!"

"I—I—Chloe, this is amazing," Beca breathes, so shocked she forgets to take a sip of her wine.

"Right?! And do you know the average wages of such a job?! I mean, we could eat in places like this every week! Can you imagine, babe?" She's flailing her arms around, looking at her girlfriend with so much hope that it breaks her heart.

Beca shakes her head absent-mindedly. "That's... yeah, I mean, wow Chloe, I wasn't expecting that!"

"You don't sound too happy," Chloe frowns, her smile dropping.

The brunette loathes herself for being so despicably selfish; she's burning with jealousy. The love of her life is over the moon and she can't even find it in herself to be happy for her?! What does that make her... She can feel her eyes welling up and she really fucking doesn't want to cry right now so she conjures up her fakest smile and levels with Chloe's gaze.

"I'm sorry Chlo. I _am _happy for you. I guess life really is gonna change for us from now on."

_Fuck, she has no idea._

* * *

With each good news Chloe brings of her flourishing career, Beca collects yet another job rejection. With each one, a new part of Beca dies and slowly but surely, her dream grows further and further out of reach. They're still a couple in theory but they don't kiss anymore, they don't whisper tender "I love you"s in each other's ears, they certainly don't make love and most importantly, they no longer _share_ each other's lives. Beca, too ashamed to talk about her failures, puts up impenetrable walls and Chloe, too afraid to upset her girlfriend with her stories and successes at work, chooses to act as if everything's fine. So they just _live_ with one another. As time goes by, Beca's passive-aggressiveness worsens. She frequently snaps at Chloe, criticizes her food and movie choices, her fake smiles and small talk, and once she even hits her by mistake when throwing her Guetta CD across the room.

They finally reach a boiling point one foggy morning of October. Beca is sprawled in front of the TV when Chloe appears in front of her.

"I can't stand this anymore Bec... I—I'm just _so_ tired of it."

Chloe's words fall like a death sentence decreed after a long and agonizing trial. There is a noticeable finality to it too. Beca remembers all too well the way her feet were lying on top of another on the couch, the TV show ad about some life insurance, the way she just scratched her nose as if her girlfriend had simply come back with the groceries. Chloe's face bathing in tears and her look of utter hopelessness. All her suffering of the past months had physically changed her, from her baggy and dull eyes to the crease on her forehead and her constant brooding. The sight was absolutely horrifying.

"So that's how it ends?" Beca asks in a controlled voice. "You leave me because _I'm _having a shitty time?"

Her bottom lip quivers. "As awful as it may sound, yes. Exactly because of that. Bec, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Now I understand that _I'm_ the source of your misery, and the only way for you to.. get better.. is if I'm not in your daily life anymore, reminding you of the things you hate."

From the way she speaks, she has already made up her mind. No reasoning or begging will make her reconsider. Their relationship is dead and gone; all the promises of forever flew out the window. Beca knows that if she lets go now, if she lets her walls down, she will fall and nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ will save her. So she clings on to her last hope as if her life depended on it—because it actually _does_—and instead of coming completely undone, her face hardens. She's waging a ruthless war within herself, exerting extreme violence on her heart for it not to fucking shatter to pieces and in succeeding, she reaches a point of no return.

Seeing that the brunette doesn't budge, doesn't protest or show any kind of emotion whatsoever, Chloe faintly nods in defeat before dragging herself to their bedroom like a zombie. Even with the door closed, her loud sobs can be heard but Beca forbids herself to go comfort her, digging her nails in her own flesh until they leave sore half-moons.

She's going to let her cry until exhaustion, until she has shed the very last tear for her and she can finally move on. Beca wants to think she's sacrificing her happiness for Chloe, setting her free from a mediocre life with nothing to look forward to. But then, she remembers that it's Chloe who broke up with her.

* * *

Beca's eyes crack open. It's dark outside. _How long has she been out? _She's got a throbbing headache and feels disoriented. The bottle of vodka lies next to the bed, still half-empty. She's feeling sick, confused and sad as hell and she knows the liquor is not the main culprit. No, this is all due to the beautiful union of regret, resentment, guilt and despair, a wonderful combination that sticks to Beca's skin whatever she does and wherever she goes. In other words, she's caged like an animal on its way to the slaughterhouse.

This trip down memory lane has taken it's toll on her and her head's swimming with fond memories, excruciating pains, nagging resentment and persistent self-loathing. The night Chloe left for good, Beca didn't cry even though the other girl's face was barely recognizable behind the tears. Cheerful, bubbly Chloe was utterly shattered and still, she was displaying more courage and abnegation than Beca ever had. But no, Beca didn't cry and she likes to think—morbidly so—that it is because part of her had already died.

Yes, Beca has now become bulletproof, but it didn't come free to her. She keeps telling herself that Chloe had already made up her mind, she convinces herself that fate had already had its way and that she was wholly powerless in the grand scheme of things. That night, it was useless to find the "perfect word"; to take a stand, kiss her and tell her everything was going to be okay. It was all useless.

But she should have.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I am extremely sorry for the long wait! I have been really busy with finals (yes, again!) and dealing with personal stuff... But here is Part 4! I really appreciate the feedback on this story and I hope you will like this part! Comment/Review if you feel like it ;) Xx**

* * *

**[Part 4]**

She arrives to The Katacomb at around 11 o'clock to set up her stuff and have a drink or two before her gig; alcohol improves her creativity and the sharpness of her senses, she finds. The line-up at the entrance is already quite lengthy so she takes the backdoor instead, using her small rusty key.

As soon as she crosses the threshold, she's welcomed by a deafening beat that shakes her entire body from within, an atmosphere of overwhelming euphoria and the splashes of some stroboscopic lights rippling along the narrow corridor. _Just another day at the office. _She walks to her locker, distractedly turning the wheel of her padlock and shoving her jacket in the crammed metallic box. It's only fall and she's already chilled to the bone; what is it going to be when winter marches in, spreading cold and insidious death in its wake.

"Hey Bec!" Matt steps in the staff room, unabashedly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his bare olive-skin torso and elaborately tattooed arms. Now, it's been a while since Beca admitted to herself that she was into the other flavour but she can't deny that the guy's fine. Being just a little over 26 years-old and easy on the eye, having a tall and strapping stature and working as a barman—which allows him to offer as many free drinks as he pleases—has gotten him more ladies than Beca ever cared to count.

"It's fucking hot in there man, a real goddamn frying pan!" he chuckles.

Another thing; he's a swell dude. In two years and a half, she's met her share of twisted people in the business but somehow, whether it was his cheerful attitude, his caring personality or his familiar humor, Beca had immediately eased up around him. What had started as a few drinks after work ended up as endless strings of conversations ranging from fervent criticism of the modern society to drunken rants about their last romantic fling. He's been pissed on a lot by life, his parents having abandoned him when he was sixteen, and yeah, in perspective Beca's life was a picnic. But Matt never even once looked down on her for that and instead he took her under his wing. Now, she kind of considers him like the brother she's never had.

He throws the shirt in his locker and trades it for an old white wife-beater that's been in there for god knows how long.

"Jesus, Matt..."

"Want me to faint out there?! Besides, they show off my guns and I know someone who's gonna dig it," he replies as he starts rummaging frantically through his locker, obviously looking for something under his messy piles of clothes.

"Do you mean Sarah?"

He bursts out laughing and as irritating as Beca finds him sometimes, she smiles.

"Hah cute! I don't even talk to her anymore! No, now I... "upgraded". She's tall, blonde, 34 C. You'd like her."

"Funny," Beca deadpans. Truth is, since last week, they've been having this sort of friendly competition to see who would bring more chicks home and so far, the brunette is biting her charming friend's dust.

He finally finds what he was looking for; a bag of weed joints. _How fucking excellent._

"Shit, I've been looking everywhere for it! Killer said that he couldn't provide me until next week and I was starting to run low..."

Killer is his drug dealer and probably the creepiest guy Beca has ever met. He bears his name well because from his dodgy face, one could swear he's already killed before, and not only insects.

Matt gives a brief look at the bag then at his friend. "Want some?"

"I'm working in about two minutes thank you," Beca crosses her arms over her chest. "Wait scratch that, my shift's already started."

"Here, have some for later then."

The DJ doesn't protest when Matt pushes the bag in her hands. She swiftly takes two joints and stuffs them in her jeans pocket. "Thanks..."

"Sure," Matt smirks as he sinks in a worn-out burgundy sofa, taking a spliff from his stock and lighting one up.

"Aren't you on the same shift as me?!"

"Yup! I'll be there in a sec. By the way, I saw your posh friend around the bar! I think she was looking for you!" He winks suggestively and Beca rolls her eyes playfully before leaving him to his business.

* * *

She's slightly disappointed because she really wanted a drink before her set and instead, she ends up with a few spliffs. Anyhow, she walks straight past the bar, purposefully avoiding any undesirable encounter. The DJ gear and spinning tables stand a foot away from the dance floor and just as it is meant to be, the place is absent of any red jumpsuit big-shot DJ. It's all about her tonight. She's decided to open the night with Guetta's Titanium because the tune's been stuck in her head for days now and maybe this song was a hit five years ago but hell can it still have people groove to its beat. She takes out her headphones and sets them around her neck, feeling empowered by her new title.

"What's up everybody, DJ Bella here!" she shouts in her microphone, making the people cheer.

Right there, this is where she feels best. Blasting her expertly-crafted tracks manages to unleash her frustrations, empty her head from the constant brooding, torments and memories that plague her day and night. Sure it's fucking _Titanium_, the song she sang with a naked Chloe in one of Barden's shower stalls in her freshman year. Sure it brings back the feeling of complete fusion with another individual, of sheer exhilaration and inexperienced lust. But when she's working, the pain hurts so good she wishes it never stopped. It never fades, but she basks in it, craves it even.

She's so caught up in her work that her shoulders jerk when she hears, "Hey Beca," slurred in her ear by no one else than Ellie. Oh course, what a better way to spice the night than with your last hook-up being all lovey-dovey. Judging by her roaming hands and dilated pupils, she makes it obvious that she has treated herself to a few drinks already.

"Hey," Beca replies coldly, needing to speak increasingly louder to cover the music.

"So I've been thinking, and I don't care if you're a stone hard bitch with a dark cloud permanently raining on your parade! I still like you!"

Was that a compliment or an insult? Perhaps a bit of both? Beca couldn't care less. "Glad to hear," she shrugs.

"No, I mean I still _like_ like you."

The girl _is _charming, with her naivety and uninhibited affection. Plus, she looks really great tonight; she's curled her hair and put a solid layer of make-up all over her face. She's definitely "hook-up" material... However, there are three reasons why Beca doesn't throw herself at Ellie right away. One; she's a spoiled rich girl and that kind of people is the most unpredictable, clingy and detestable kind there is. Two; Beca needs to act distant to assert her own independence because she's the one leading this dance after all. And three—while that reason is probably the most important, it's also the most irrational, messed-up and completely fucking stupid—_Chloe_.

She leans in and says, "Yeah, you still like me after the shit I said the other night? I'm sorry about that by the way. I was... distraught."

"It's okay, I know how you can redeem yourself!"

She grabs Beca by the wires of her headphones, bringing her inches from her face. She'd want to chastise her for not handling her precious possession with more care but Ellie's breath strongly smells of rich white alcohol and it excites the DJ far more than it should.

"Maybe," and she licks her lips in a suggestive manner, "we could meet up somewhere nice and quiet, like the girls' bathroom?"

"Y—yeah, I guess we could. After my set though."

Ellie nods and struts away, effectively swaying her hips as she goes. _That fucking tease... _Her attention turns back to the dance floor and she scans the crowd. Dancing is so ridiculous nowadays; there is no thought, no effort. You just dry hump everything remotely within reach. As her eyes sweep over the club, she spots a redhead grinding her body against a tall and hunky dude and suddenly, she itches to throw a drink at his douchy face.

_Fuck._

Where is Chloe right now, she wonders. Partying on a boat with the L.A. elite? Trading make-up secrets with famous actresses over a late dinner date? Hooking up with some smoking hot model in her luxurious penthouse overlooking the whole city?

Two hours of mixing have gone by already. She's been so absorbed darting the Chloe doppelganger that she didn't notice from corner of her eye that Ellie was walking up to her behind the sound system. She doesn't display her usual swagger; perhaps she doesn't feel like having a quickie anymore. Beca chooses not to care and so, she doesn't even look up to greet the girl, focusing on the tracks playing on her computer monitor.

"Beca!"

The voice is muffled because of her headphones but she gets such goose bumps out of its bright and joyful ring that her heart flutters and she doesn't even need to guess.

"Chloe?!"

There she stands, in her everlasting glory; the girl who had taken her heart five years ago. The girl who had saved her from herself so long ago and to whom in return she had promised the world and more. But... her hair! What happened to it?! A _blonde_ curtain has replaced the ginger locks, trimmed right up to her shoulders, and the spotlight emphasizes this luminous dye. She's never pictured her as a blonde before; it makes her look even more angelic and innocent.

"You hair!" is the first thing she manages to say.

"You like it? They asked me to change it up, for a photo shoot!"

The older girl is beaming so brightly, so obliviously, that Beca has to bite back some weak unwanted tears. She knows that Chloe wants to hug her, but this is awkward enough as it is. She leans on her laptop to play with the bass sounds and treble effects so she can avoid the formal and oh-so very uncomfortable greetings.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you first!" she exclaims. "My last meeting ended early and I thought I could surprise you at work! I was so excited for our coffee date on Friday you know! Two years already and I never heard any of your sets here!"

"And a half!" Beca yells in her ear.

"What?!"

"I've been here two years and a half!"

Chloe makes a face as if she's worried she said something wrong so she ends up simply nodding. Meanwhile, Beca wants to punch herself in the face for how absurd and childish she sounds. _What does it even fucking matter? _It seems like yet another way to reproach Chloe's lack of involvement in her ex girlfriend's life after the break-up.

This is _so_ not right. For the past years, Beca has sought solace in an underground world of debauchery, binge drinking, malice and dubious entertainments. And then one day out of the blue, Chloe storms her dark miserable world and brings in all of her light; it's blinding, disorienting and frankly, Beca is not sure if she feels relieved or threatened.

Light and darkness. In the end, _which swallows which_?

* * *

There are five minutes left to her shift, one last song on her set list; it's Pitbull's _Give Me Everything_. _That's some fucking outstanding timing._ She had thrown in this song at the end as a filler track more than anything but of course, it had to play while Chloe was around, listening eagerly to the DJ's work. She violently shoves aside the memories of the Bellas winning the ICCAs thanks to this song and of her feeling more triumphant and accomplished than she'd ever been, thinking that she indeed _was_ able to achieve great things.

The excruciatingly long four minutes and seven seconds come to an end when the clock strikes three o'clock. She grabs the microphone.

"Thank you everyone for coming tonight! Hope you had a blast because I sure did and I will see you next time! DJ Bella over and out."

Chloe opens her mouth surely to comment on the name, but Beca cuts her by grabbing her hand and guiding her away from the dance floor. Together, they push their way through the throng and make it to the back of the club, to the staff "lounge".

As they step into the room, Beca finally releases her grasp on Chloe's hand, realizing just how moist it was. She stammers, "W-what the hell are you doing?!"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Matt retorts, his straw hovering above a freshly made line of powder.

"What about your shift?"

"Oh man, I didn't realize this was the shift police!" he jibes. "Relax, chief! I got off at 2:45."

Unceremoniously, he blocks one nostril and sniffs the whole substance in a brisk movement of the head. He coughs a few times, sniffing loudly and sinking into the sofa with a blissful air about him.

As if he just took notice of Chloe, he knits his eyebrows. "So no Ellie tonight then?"

"Oh shit! Look, can you tell her I left already?"

He sighs. "Sure..."

An uncomfortable silence beings to settle in and Matt catches Beca's meaningful glances. Grunting, he grabs his stuff from the table and puts it back in his locker. As he makes his way to the door, he takes one last look at the two girls and bobs the head appreciatively. "Nice catch, this one Bec. You might even the score."

Ignoring Chloe's quizzical eyes, Beca takes Matt's place on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. It's funny because if at first, when she saw Chloe's face tonight, she wanted to act all proper and maybe even try to impress, now she doesn't really mind. It's not that she wants the girl's pity—because fuck, she'd rather die than have it—but she figures that hiding herself is useless at this point. Or maybe she really just wants to shock her, disgust her. Just for fun... and perhaps for pay-back too.

The DJ wriggles in her seat, reaching down in her back pocket to take out a spliff that Matt has given her earlier. Casually, she lights it up and takes a languid and nonchalant drag. Meanwhile, Chloe is studying Beca with such a transfixed gaze that the girl wonders if she's trying to burn a hole through her. She's silent and Beca appreciates that immensely because right now, she doesn't feel like answering a million questions or be burdened by the Chloe's sympathy overload.

She decides to push things further; see how far she can take the situation in which she has the upper hand for once. "Wanna have a puff?"

Chloe hesitates but seeing Beca's dopey grin, her weary eyes and offering hand, she figures, "What the hell."

Beca smirks when the newly blonde accepts the small joint and inhales the drug. She coughs a few times, studying the spliff. "I've only had one of those once! You know the business. But yeah, it was not my thing so..."

Chloe hands the joint back to Beca, looking carefully about. Yeah, the room is hardly glamorous with its fractured walls and peeling wallpaper. It's clearly falling apart and Beca ponders that perhaps this is why she feels like this place is familiar.

"Do you.. take anything else?" Chloe asks, her eyes riveted on where Matt's coke was a few minutes ago.

Beca takes another drag, exhaling in a puff of thick gray smoke. "Uh, once I almost snorted coke," the brunette admits as if it's the most normal thing in the world—there is even a hint of pride in her voice.

"Almost? What stopped you?"

Beca plays with the joint between her fingers, giving the stub a lot more attention than it deserves. She doesn't meet the other girl's gaze when she voices a faint, "You."

* * *

They don't linger in the club very long. The air is crisp and so, even with a jacket she's shivering pathetically. Chloe's got a nice beige duster coat that underlines her tall and slender frame. They're walking side by side, Beca biting the inside of her cheeks, another one of the bad habits she picked up with the years.

"So uh, who's Ellie? Someone special?"

"Oh she's special alright! Not really my kind of special though, but she does the trick."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

"Well I'm seeing someone."

"Yeah? Good for you," she nods a little too casually. The news unnerve her but she's determined not to let it show.

"She's one of the album producers."

"That's... good," she says after what feels like an eternity.

"She's completely in love with me. She didn't say it but I can tell."

"How do you know?"

Chloe takes a sharp breath, as a pale flimsy fog escapes her lips. She takes a while to answer. She always does when she's about to say something important.

"It's how she looks at me. Because you used to look at me the same way..."

As the night fades into dawn, Chloe and Beca part ways as the blonde catches a cab. She assures the girl that she'll text her sometime Friday. "Don't you think I forgot about this coffee date we set up!" she said before disappearing into the taxi and riding off to god knows where. She didn't even ask where she lived. In fact, she didn't really ask her anything at all, and come to think of it, yeah, perhaps she was a little too scared of knowing anything.

Feeling the effects of the weed die away, she's suddenly overcome with an unfathomable loneliness. Hands shoved in the pockets of her light jacket, she makes her way home, trying to control her goddamn shivers as she realizes that perhaps, they're not due solely to the cold weather.


End file.
